Sharing
by rso
Summary: Spock is leaving Jim passive-aggressive notes in the bathroom.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Star Trek is copyright Paramount Pictures, original creator Gene Roddenberry. No copyright infringements are meant and no profit is being made from this story.

**Title:** Sharing

**Author:** rso

* * *

It all began with a note taped in his bathroom.

* * *

Captain,

I would like to bring to your attention that there are, in fact, two people making use of these amenities. Starfleet regulations require Captain and First Officer to share an adjoining bathroom. As I understand this may be difficult for you to comprehend, I have left a copy of Starfleet Directive 1015.11 with the appropriate sub-section highlighted. I have also attached a copy of the floor map for this deck so that you may observe for yourself the logistics of the situation.

Alternatively, you may like to consider why there are two sinks in this space.

This door, while locked, does lead into my quarters and I do make use of it. I also make use of this bathroom. As delightful as it is to encounter your laundry strewn across the floor and your beauty products cluttering all available shelf space, I had been led to believe that most humans learn to clean up after themselves by age seven.

If you are amenable to developing this core skill, please keep to using your own, personal sink and your own, personal half of the vanity shelves. Soiled clothing goes into the recycler. The toilet seat goes down. If you run out of toothpaste, replicate another tube and do not rummage around to "find" some. What you seem to think is a magical reservoir of things you lack is, in reality, my hygiene kit.

First Officer Spock

* * *

Jim read the note standing in his boxers, toothbrush in hand. He blinked and looked at the ream of paper neatly stacked on the (closed) toilet lid.

Well, shit.

Spock? In here?

The permanently closed door suddenly took on a new meaning. There was something extremely attractive about having the prissy bastard in such close proximity. Spock always disappeared right after shift, so Jim had assumed he spent his nights with Uhura. He never even heard Spock moving around through the bulkhead. Was his First Officer there right now?

Jim stealthily picked up a glass from the sink and stepped over to Spock's door to utilise a cunning and time-honoured eavesdropping technique. Other than the smooth humming of his beautiful _Enterprise_, there was only silence from the other side. Jim straightened up and wrinkled his nose, running a hand through his sleep-ruffled hair. This was why he had sprawled out to take up the entire bathroom. If Spock had been here this whole time, it was understandable he'd be upset because that had been about a week ago.

Score.

A shit-eating grin spread across Jim's face. He was, without a doubt, a genius. It was so obvious now that all the scheming in the world was nothing compared to his natural finesse. He'd been planning an elaborate programming emergency to get Spock to acknowledge his existence as a human being again. He had intended to blind Spock with science so that the bastard would forget he wasn't speaking to Jim. Evidently he needn't have worried. He'd gotten Spock to break their most recent cold war just by virtue of being his fabulous self. Not only that, but Spock was leaving him notes in his bathroom. Notes. In his bathroom. There was no way Spock could avoid him ever again.

Jim would write his reply later. Needless to say, he had absolutely no intention of acceding to any of Spock's requests. Where was the fun in that? He picked up the directive from the toilet seat and went back into his quarters to plunk it on his desk. The note he placed carefully on top, smoothing the edges down with his fingertips. Jim stood there for a moment, looking at Spock's precise, even handwriting. While he loved riling Spock up, it was never fun when Spock retreated into his icy shell to mope. Jim had been dealing with a genuinely robotic First Officer for almost an entire _three days_. The return of Spock's personality deserved some commemoration, even if it possessed a fair amount of room for improvement. Maybe Jim would make an official note in his Captain's Log.

He stripped off his boxers and stepped into the fresher, keying in a lukewarm temperature. He was the type to think in the shower and felt that he could use the soothing ritual today. He had spent last night obsessing over their new assignment. Every angle used to examine the delightful situation raised a new set of questions and Jim had ended up trawling through the ship's database up until, what, two hours ago?

The Federation was in an unprecedentedly vulnerable position. Check. That was one way to put the loss of a founding member and most of a graduating class. The essential core of Vulcan culture had been saved and almost three hundred thousand members were confirmed survivors, but the Rupture, as they were calling it, was exactly that – a gaping, bleeding wound in the minds of all survivors and in the Federation itself.

At this time, the Federation needed to secure the faith and loyalty of its member planets. Check. It was extremely fortunate that Nero had destroyed a Klingon flotilla using a Romulan ship because it meant that the Federation's two most powerful enemies were not likely to join forces any time soon. It bought everyone some breathing space so they could "find their goddamn asses and get them kicked into gear". Bones had not been happy with their immediate reassignment and was even less pleased with his Med interns.

As the flagship, the _Enterprise _was needed to do the diplomatic run and make a show of strength. Check. There simply weren't enough starships to run patrols on the Neutral Zone, play pretty with ambassadors and protect Federation space at the same time. Everything assigned to the _Enterprise_ was top priority. Jim had checked – red flashing lights marked at least seven missions down the list.

This was the first. They were ordered to go to Cardassian Prime and get a feel for the political climate. The official excuse was the Detapa Festival week in the capital. The Cardassians were celebrating the strength of their state and the _Enterprise_ would attend as a sign of respect and honour. Unofficially, they were there to find out whether the Cardassians were still playing nice. Jim shook his head in disgust, sending water droplets flying. It was chancy, it was delicate and there were too many details. He towelled himself off roughly before donning his slacks and undershirt. The gold tunic he left folded on the bathroom replicator.

Pulling on his boots, he checked his chronometer. It was only 0810, so Jim had plenty of time to eat before shift. And Bones would be on his way to the mess now. Jim would hunt him down.

* * *

"Bones Bones Bones Bones-" Jim sing-songed as he slung an arm over his best friend's shoulders.

"Shut up, Jim!" McCoy made no move to get away as they walked down the corridor together and Jim's grin widened.

"Did you miss me, Bones? Didja? I bet you did. I bet you sat up all night crying from the desolation of it all."

McCoy grunted.

"I knew it! It's okay. I have a bottle of bourbon. We will drink it tonight and I will pass out in your bed and it will be like I never left you. No more grieving insomnia for you!"

Bones glanced at him. "You're the one who only got one and a half hours of sleep last night," he drawled.

Jim stared. "How the _hell_ do you do that? Seriously, this thing of yours drove me crazy in the Academy; just tell me already! Is it the eyes? It's the eyes isn't it."

Jim scrutinised Bones at point-blank range, searching for a hint. Bones glared back at him, unimpressed.

"Get your ugly mug out of my face. All I need to do is look at how much of an idiot you're being on any given day. It's what you call an _inverse relationship_."

Jim snorted. "Oh, look at you and your higher math. We think we're so clever, don't we? We've come a long way from failing biostatistics, haven't we, Bonesy?"

"Not really. I'm serving under Starfleet's resident retard. He talks in second person. I think they're punishing me for something."

"Damn straight you're serving under me. Sometimes I'm not sure if you're aware of this fact. I should make you wear something demeaning, like a fez-"

"Good morning, Captain Kirk."

Jim broke off and looked around. It was Sulu, looking calm and capable as he always did. Jim relaxed, raising his hand for a fistbump. They were _bros_. He had never met anyone who could be such a mild, unassuming geek and yet so badass at the same time. It was kind of awesome.

Sulu fell into stride with them and Jim clapped him on the shoulder. "Heading to the mess?"

"Yeah. I skipped dinner last night so I'm starved."

"That's the third time. I'm monitoring your meal card, buddy."

Sulu grinned sheepishly at McCoy. "I know; I'm sorry. There's just a really interesting germination project underway in Plant Bio Lab 2. I lost track of time."

"Is that the one with the fluorescent aquatic spores? The samples we picked up on Tri-Gal IV?" Jim piped up, interested.

"Shush, Jim, the adults are talking."

"Bite me, Bones."

'You know about that, Captain?" Sulu sounded pleasantly surprised as opposed to disbelieving and Jim mentally bumped him up a few places on his List of Favourite People. It was Most Unfavourite McCoy who answered the question.

"Yeah, he would. His majors were Astrophysics and Engineering on top of the three-year command course but this idiot savant found time to dabble somehow. I'm warning you now so that he can't play dumb with you."

"Bones! You suck!" Jim scowled, unhappy with this development. What if Uhura found out that he hadn't actually slept his way to the top? She might, heaven forbid, start respecting him or something.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Shut up. It's just Sulu. I think you have enough people to torment. You wanted to play in the labs with him anyway."

"You're welcome any time, Captain. Other than the spores, they've got a proteomic analysis underway with a few strains of thermophilic algae. Spock's looking after that one."

Oh _was_ he now. Jim had a feeling he might develop a burning interest in thermophilic algae soon. Bones took one look at Jim and started swearing under his breath.

The three of them continued the conversation into the mess hall until they parted to get trays and line up at the replicators. The mess was a large, echoing place reminiscent of a high school cafeteria. Considering the age of the crew and all the departmental cliques, Jim found this comparison apt. It was a welcoming, social place to eat, warm and well-lit. There were several long tables made to seat up to twenty on benches as well as more intimate settings scattered around. A few shrub-palms in pots stood around to keep the place looking nice.

This morning, a large number of men and women in Maintenance uniforms filled up one long table and were chatting animatedly. Firmly on the opposite side of the hall was a mass of Engineering red. Right at the centre of it, Scotty was earnestly explaining something to one of his underlings with the aid of a colossal structure he'd made out of coffee stirrers. As Jim watched, Scotty snatched another one out of someone's mug and used it to gesticulate. The baguette he held in the other hand dripped onion bits with every movement.

Jim smiled. He had spent two days reprogramming the replicators with Scotty before the _Enterprise_ launched and they had been successful in improving both the range and quality of foods available. Scotty was adamant about never going near a protein nib ever again. Their Constitution-class flagship now suffered the ignoble distinction of best sandwich bar in space. It meant that their crew was well-fed, at the very least. Jim surveyed the ensigns walking back and forth with an air of proprietary satisfaction.

There were few Science blues around as their shift rotation was scheduled differently. A third of the engineers had already left and a fresh wave of officers was coming in. With four hundred and twenty crewmembers on board, high-traffic areas like this were always bustling. The aromas of a hundred good breakfasts hung in the air with the clink of cutlery and dull roar of conversation.

When it was Jim's turn in line, he decided on traditional continental fare and placed an order for two croissants and a selection of jams. He placed his hot chocolate on the tray as and headed off to where Bones and Sulu had found a spot. He would eat, return to his quarters for his reports and an unfinished schematic and then report to the bridge.

"Good morning, crew."

* * *

Jim entered through the doors of the turbolift and beamed around at his assembled officers. He winked at the motherly Officer Rhuyet manning Internal Systems Control and then made his way slowly down to settle in his command chair. He stacked his PADDs on the floor nearby in easy reach.

"Status, Chekov?" His prodigious navigator turned to face him with a bright smile, looking far too small in his gold tunic.

"We are directly on-course for Cardassian Prime, Keptin. ETA is sixteen days which is giving us plenty of time as Detapa Festiwal begins in twenty days."

"Anything to report?"

"Nyet, Keptin."

"Very good." Chekov ducked his head and spun back around.

"How's the ride, Sulu?"

"Warp factor 5, Captain and going smoothly. Keeping a low altitude to pass under Sonor's Belt, should be clear in an hour." Sulu's hands were steady on the helm and his eyes trained forward.

Having established that his ship was intact and going places, Jim sat back and called up his task list. It would probably be a quiet shift today. Chekov had plotted and laid in the course for the Cardassian System yesterday. He had also made the shipwide announcement, because Jim got his kicks wherever he could. They were now enroute through charted space so unless Sulu steered them into a stray asteroid, Jim had a time to make his rounds of the Bridge and play with Spock.

It was a habit of Jim's to visit all the consoles and chat with their manning officers. It helped him keep in touch with all that was going on and ensured that he was familiar with more than just his central command team. Each officer would greet him pleasantly and make their report. On occasion, he would receive a hands-on crash course in their duties; necessary thanks to his skip through the ranks. Lieutenant Johnson on Sensors told him about a pending recalibration portside and showed him how the current readouts would compare once the service was complete. Scar-faced Gott in charge of Hardware and Systems had several grievances to air, which was not unexpected. Jim moved from station to station, filing away the updates in his mind.

He had spent maybe the first two hours of his captaincy treading lightly before throwing caution to the wind. His original concern with prowling the bridge had been making his officers nervous by breathing down their necks, but then decided to give his crew a bit more credit. If he wasn't acting Big Scary Captain on their asses, they had no legit reason to be twitchy. Uhura's predictions for the outcome of his attitude were dire and ultimately incorrect, which of course didn't make him insufferably smug at all. Because he was the very model of a sensible and mature Captain. Her ponytail had gotten the last word in anyway, smacking him in the face when she'd turned to storm off.

Jim was at the console next to Uhura's now, speaking softly to a quiet little Andorian girl in Science blues ("Lieutenant Shathrissia zh'Cheen, isn't it?"). She was so shy that she flinched whenever he leaned over her station. She gradually relaxed when Jim asked her to explain what the readings on her screen meant and began to sit up rather than cringing away from him. Jim caught Uhura watching them with suspicion and winked at her. In response, she narrowed her eyes at him and turned away. Lieutenant Shathrissia looked between the two of them, confused, and twitched her left antennae in inquiry.

"It's nothing. She just likes me too much and she doesn't know how to express it. It's a problem that Human females have." Jim explained.

Uhura turned immediately and told Shathrissia exactly how wrong Jim was and why in rapid Andorian. Jim grinned when she got stuck with defending the clarity of female communication with the opposite sex.

"Well- no, I'm not saying that- It's true we don't _always_ let them know right away- That doesn't necessarily mean that- No! No. It's... complicated."

"Two words," he smoothly intervened in the same language. "Mixed signals."

Lieutenant Shathrissia nodded in understanding. They were interrupted by a beep from her console, which was fortunate for Jim. From the look on her face, Uhura had been ready to gouge chunks out of him. He'd heard that she ran mandatory seminars for the females in her department entitled "When Captains Go Wrong: Exposing Depravity within the Chain of Command".

After a moment of concentration on her earpiece, Uhura turned back to Jim. "Captain, I have a communiqué from Starfleet Embassy. The assistant consul has sent records of past contacts with the Cardassians. You'll need to review them."

Jim looked at her suspiciously. "How big is it?"

"17.6 megabytes, _Captain_."

He loved that particular shade of disdain in her voice. Maybe she learnt it from Spock. But, over 17 megabytes? "Thank you, Uhura. Upload them onto my PADD and I'll have a look."

He bid farewell to Lieutenant Shathrissia and glanced over at his final destination; Spock's station. Spock was still diligently scanning his screen, posture perfect and every hair neatly in place. He hadn't looked up once the entire shift, so maybe Jim had been too hopeful with his morning prognosis. Maybe Spock wanted to play Super Vulcan for a bit longer.

Stuff _that_.

Jim sauntered over; the expression he had used to start a dozen bar fights pasted firmly on his face.

"Hey, Spock!" he greeted boisterously as he deliberately leaned into Spock's personal space.

He had to give the Vulcan some credit. His eyes had not even flickered, though Jim was sure the pointed ear nearest him had twitched.

"How are you doing over here, buddy?"

"Please do not refer to me as your "buddy". It may mislead people into thinking our interactions are mutually enjoyable."

Jim felt like punching the air in glee. Yes, Spock was still mad, but he was talking to Jim again! It was beautiful. Jim tilted his head to the side, enjoying Spock's stony profile.

"What's that, buddy? You don't want people to know how much you adore our little chats? But it shows, you know. You just can't hide a love like ours."

"As much as I regret having to disillusion you, Captain, you are irrefutably alone with your love."

"Unacceptable. Your protestations ring hollow in my ears, Mr Spock. Practise in front of the mirror for a bit longer and I might consider believing you."

Spock finally turned to look up at Jim, severe as always. "Is there a reason you are here, Captain?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. For one, I wanted to see how you were." Spock turned back to his screen. "Also... What do you know about the Cardassians?"

"Specify, Captain." The patterned light from a spreadsheet moved over Spock's face as he scrolled through his data.

"Had any experience with them?"

"Negative, Captain."

"Heard anything about them?"

"Several things, Captain, most from unreliable sources."

Jim sighed. Even when Jim bowed down to the demands of duty, Spock still wouldn't give him a break. Mean bully.

"The rumour about the neck ridges, right?" Jim injected a leer into his voice.

No response, though Spock had stopped scrolling and was just sitting there now. Counting to ten, possibly.

"I think it's true."

No reply.

"Maybe I'll find ou-"

"That would break several guidelines concerning behaviour befitting a Starfleet representative and four regulations about diplomatic conduct."

Spock gave Jim his special cutting glance and continued. "If you require, I can compile a report for you from the Federation database and ship's library."

"Thanks, Spock! You're the best!" Jim flashed him a grin and clapped him on the shoulder before going back to his command chair.

Everything was all good now. He signed off on a systems report from Yeoman Rand and picked up his duty PADD to examine his mound of reading. It was time to do some actual work.

"Chekov, announce a senior staff meeting for central command duty officers after alpha shift tomorrow. And our CMO. We'll meet in Briefing Room 3 to discuss our current mission. Everyone needs to be well-versed on the brief as well as the information Uhura's going to send around."

"Aye, Keptin!"

"Uhura, divvy up the communiqué so that each member of the meeting has a reasonable proportion to handle. This thing is ridiculous."

Jim opened up the report on First Contact with the Cardassians and began to read. As Captain, he'd try to get through as much of it as possible.

* * *

The turbolift doors hissed open, admitting Bones to the bridge right as shift turned over. Jim looked up from where he was slumped in his chair and gave Bones a small wave.

"Listen to this, Bones." Jim angled his PADD and adopted a breathy falsetto.

"_Dear Diary, _

_Today I had, in troth, met one most wondrous boy with whom, stars be willing, I long to couple –_"

"What?" McCoy demanded.

"_He has the most lustrous grey skin I have ever seen, the most delicately sculpted pebbledash around his most piercing dark eyes... The way his hair sweeps back from his imposing brow! The way his bangs sweep his chiselled jaw! We met at Kegroth when mine father presented me to the nobles. He was one of the contestants in the display of valour and looked so dashing in their garb. When our gazes connected, the universe stood still! I thought I should swoon! He is so strong and stern and oh so handsome-"_

"All right, all right!" McCoy raised a hand to his temple, closing his eyes. Dear lords. "Is there a reason you're reading this tripe on the bridge? A sane, intelligent one that makes sense?"

"A crewmember asked me to edit their great intergalactic novel."

"Uh huh."

"I personally think it's going to be a great hit."

"Sickbay. Now."

"What if I told you I was following Starfleet orders?"

"You must think I'm a real idiot."

McCoy hustled Jim out of his chair, ignoring the muttered, "No, I _know_ you are." Jim was marched into the turbolift and Bones punched in the deck for Med Bay. Jim blinked owlishly at him.

"Don't give me that look. I need to update your allergen information. Every six months, on the dot. You weren't allergic to Melvaren mud flea last I checked, so suck it."

"Right here in the turbolift? You Southern romantic you." Jim leered obscenely down at Bones' crotch.

"Shut up, you oversexed maniac."

The lift chime sounded and Bones kept a firm grip on Jim's arm as they walked to the open entrance area of Medical. It was a dangerously efficient place, black floor shining under the bright lights and glowing screens. Several hallways branched off in different directions to operating theatres, storage space, offices, prep rooms; even a small Medical Lab. Bones' domain was practically a small hospital unto itself. The main difference was that it was well-staffed, with nurses and techs with files and trolleys navigating around them quickly and noiselessly. Jim had simply approved every requisition form Bones had put in front of him, trusting his friend implicitly. And this is what I get in return, Jim thought sourly. The clean, fresh smell of antiseptic permeated the air and grew stronger as they reached the double doors leading to the consultation area. Once safely inside, Bones looked about for someone amongst the mass of pale Medical blue.

"Nurse Chapel, did you finish prepping the examination room?"

"Yes, Doctor McCoy. Everything you need should be there." Jim's gaze ran up long legs to a neat figure and pleasant smile. Before he could say anything, Bones pinched him mercilessly.

"No harassing my head nurse."

"You're so not fun."

They entered the white examination room and Bones washed his hands thoroughly before donning a med coat and pair of latex gloves. Jim, well familiar with the routine, went to slouch on the bed. He kicked his legs back and forth, pretending to ignore the way Bones was eyeing him critically.

"You've added muscle around your shoulders and your skin is pale. Too much working out and not enough sleep. Tunic and undershirt off."

"Nag, nag, nag."

Bones ran a tricorder over Jim with practised movements and examined the readings.

"Slightly dehydrated. I can fix that."

"Wha- _Ow_! Bones! Couldn't I have just drunk a glass of water? Jeez!"

"Yeah, probably," he replied, discarding the hypospray needle into sharps. He looked at the pout on Jim's face and smirked. "But that's so not fun."

"Ha."

Jim fidgeted as Bones rolled a metal trolley over. The tray on top held twenty-seven ampoules, which was admittedly less than last time. Jim looked at them unhappily but obediently held out his forearms to be swapped with antiseptic. Bones' touch was calm and gentle as always, which worked to soothe Jim a little. He held Jim by the wrist as he swabbed the skin to thoroughly clean the surface. Then he turned to work over the tray, swapping out the hypo for the first spot test on Jim's arm.

"Plant extracts to start with."

With a pneumatic hiss, the first sample was injected under Jim's skin and Bones moved onto the next. He worked quickly and methodically, sharp gaze flicking between tray and skin, hands never faltering or clumsy. Jim sat there patiently as he was treated with sample after sample, the silence focused and companionable. He leaned his head back against the wall, watching the movements of Bones' tousled brown hair and the surly pursing of his lips. It was almost nice, being forced to acknowledge that someone cared.

As Bones was finishing up the left arm, however, Jim began to get restless. From the mistrustful glances Bones was sending his way, he knew as much as well.

Well then.

"Bones, Spock is leaving me passive-aggressive notes in the bathroom."

There was a pause.

"That's nice, Jim."

"Booones..." Jim whined. "Bones! You're not listening to me, Bones!"

"Shut up, you brat!"

"But Bones..."

"I thought he was ignoring you," Bones grumbled. He moved over to his terminal, checking Jim's MHC sequence.

"Yeah, ever since I asked him about Vulcan mating customs. It was hilarious at the time but then the bastard froze me out for three whole days."

"Oh no. The horror. However did you cope," Bones deadpanned.

Jim hid a smile. Bones did not approve of Spock and he would continue to not approve of Spock no matter how many notes he sent.

"Oh, you couldn't possibly imagine how dreadful it was."

Bones closed his eyes briefly before ordering, "Forearms out. I need to check the spots."

Jim inspected the bright red reactions detachedly, half-listening to Bones' mutterings and half-lost in thoughts of how to reply to Spock.

"Type-1 hypersensitivity still apparent for shellfish, chlorine, all nut varieties, urushiol..."

Bones continued cross-referencing between the results Jim's skin and his dataPADD records.

"You can eat tropical fruits now. No reaction. Stay away from everything on this list. I'm sending it through to you now." Bones highlighted the information and tapped out a command on his screen.

Jim felt a rush of affection for his best friend.

"Resource Scheduling told me that you'd requisitioned twice as much antihistamine as the _U.S.S Nightingale_. A hospital ship," he remarked, tone light and airy.

Jim watched Bones out of the corner of his eyes. The tips of Bones' ears reddened and he seemed ready to combust with the wrath and embarrassment battling for precedence within him. Predictably, wrath won out.

"Yeah?" Bones snarled. "Well if I didn't have a wrongheaded slap-brained addlepated nincompoop of a Captain who leaks IgE and keeps his MHC cassettes all over the place, maybe I wouldn't have to!"

Jim winked. "Love you too, Bones."

He whistled as he made his way back to his quarters, nodding to crewmembers that passed by. Back in his quarters, he rifled through the papers Spock had left for him, lingering over one in particular, and began to prepare his reply.

* * *

Spock-man!

You don't mean say you're just on the other side of this extremely thin bulkhead here? I thought you'd left me for Uhura's quarters! I felt all bereft and everything. There may have been tears. But you know, I got over it. Wouldn't it be far more convenient for you to stay over there? I can guarantee you that her toilet seat will always, without a doubt, remain down.

Don't you ever get sick of being so prissy? It's always "Captain, that is not within standard protocol" and "Captain, that is highly inadvisable" and "Captain, you're a moron". Now you're doing it _off-duty_. Thanks ever so for lending me all two hundred and ninety three pages of Starfleet Directive 1015.11, but I'm done with them now. You can have them back.

The floor map, on the other hand, I'm keeping. It may be the most fantastic thing ever. Because of your generous gift, I forgive you for the uncharitable comparison of myself to a seven-year-old. However... Beauty products, Spock? _Beauty products_? Why the hell are my things relegated to being beauty products while yours get to be all hygiene, huh? Last I checked, fruity hand cream and nail files don't exactly cleanse. You're just jealous because you're not as pretty as I am. This is what _you_ look like.

James T Kirk

* * *

Questions? Comments? Suggestions? Please let me know!

-xox-


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Star Trek is copyright Paramount Pictures, original creator Gene Roddenberry. No copyright infringements are meant and no profit is being made from this story.

**Title:** Sharing

**Author:** rso

* * *

Captain,

I confess that I do not understand your surprise at my presence. These are my assigned quarters. It would be remiss of me not to occupy them. I am already regrettably aware of how thin the bulkheads are.

Your disregard and disrespect for Starfleet legislature, as evidenced by the sodden, shredded document I found dumped in my sink, is of understandable concern. For this reason, I have signed you up for a short course on Starfleet Command Policy. You are required to complete 30 hours with an accredited instructor and pass a written examination. As a result, you will gain three credit points towards your professional learning and thorough grounding in the history and reasoning behind each and every Starfleet protocol. No thanks are necessary.

I have much to say about your stick-figure drawing of myself hanging from a noose. However, I will refrain from criticising what is no doubt your greatest artistic achievement to date. It was unfortunately necessary for me to wash it off the mirror before I began my morning ablutions. I trust you will not be unduly disappointed.

To answer your query, I do not ever tire of addressing your personal shortcomings. Perhaps one day in the future, you will be able to notice them for yourself. The Maslow learning model places a great deal of emphasis on acknowledging one's own incompetence as a key step towards self-improvement.

Please stop examining the contents of my kit.

First Officer Spock

* * *

Jim gaped at the note in frank (and rather unwarranted) disbelief.

When he had stumbled into his room early in the morning after leaving Bones' quarters, he had forgotten all about his response to Spock the night before. There was nothing more on his mind than taking a leak and making himself presentable for the day ahead. His mouth tasted like a small rodent had made a nest in it, given birth to some offspring and completely failed to toilet-train any of them. Drinking with Bones usually meant bootleg bourbon with a hell of an aftertaste.

Jim had slipped quietly out of bed without waking his doctor-friend (who would have an early enough start as it was) and unobtrusively made his way through the curving hallways to his own quarters. His beloved, personal, private quarters where the wonders of hot water and a desperately-needed loo awaited him. So of course Jim had no idea what was in store for him. He had entered the bathroom innocently, blinking a little under the bright lights and had been faced with something straight out of a holographic catalogue.

The place was barely recognisable. His (shared) bathroom had always been a nice one, spacious and white-tiled with shiny chrome fittings. Now, however, it was worthy of its own fucking plinth in the middle of a D'luxe VI showroom. It sparkled, it gleamed, it blinded him with its hideous perfection.

All of Jim's rumpled, sodden clothes had been picked up off the floor and sent to god knows where. Jim suspected Spock had burned them. The glass walls of the 'fresher were spotless and all the fittings shone as though newly minted. There wasn't a single drop of water around the sinks and the large square mirror was pristine, flawlessly reflecting Jim's ratty appearance and mussed up hair in cruel detail. The glass shelf below the mirror was meticulously organised. All of his things were neatly lined up – in order of _height_, for chrissakes – on one side of an imaginary half-way line, lids replaced and labels facing outwards.

Nothing had escaped the tyranny. Looking at it all afresh, Jim felt his skin crawl. He quickly nudged some bottles out of line, scattering them haphazardly and then looked around for something else to fix. Who the hell could live like this? Spock was a complete and utter _nutjob_. Sure, he was Vulcan (which, as far as Jim was concerned, meant the same thing) and anyone who looked at him could tell came with more issues than the _Playboy_ magazine backlog. From the last fucking _century_ at least. Good _grief_. Jim turned a box of floss on its side and turned on the tap to let the water splash out a little. The toothpaste and soap he took down to place by the sink. He then took off his shirt and pants and kicked them into a corner, where they nestled comfortably.

There. Jim stood back to examine his handiwork. The place now looked liveable. Natural. _Normal_. It looked like a bathroom that might actually forgive you for daring to breathe in it, unlike before. Satisfied with his artistic direction, Jim picked up the note again. There was something... something very important there that he had missed, what with his senses being assaulted on all sides by shining surfaces and straight lines. The part where Spock had supposedly enrolled Jim in- what was it again? Starfleet Command Policy? Jim snorted explosively. Yeah, how about _no_. That was totally not happening. There was no way his First Officer could sign him off for professional learning. Jim could imagine the consequences of such an unfair advantage and they were...

...Pretty damn similar to what was happening right now.

Jim paused.

Nah. No way.

...Right?

Spock never lied or made idle threats. It was a failing of his, right up there with cracking jokes and considering other people's feelings. Well, Jim liked Spock's jokes. Nobody else ever seemed to notice them, not even Uhura. Jim knew this because the first time he had burst out laughing in one of Spock's cost-benefit analyses, she had whirled on him like a scary tigress defending its young. Claws and everything. She'd been paying rapt attention to her boyfriend's presentation and yet somehow managed to miss Spock's sly remark – so much funnier for being so unexpected. It was almost tragic, Jim thought. Uhura took Spock so... seriously. Probably always had, seeing as Spock had been a professor and she a cadet when they started dating. With the Rupture, it would only have gotten worse.

But that was totally beside the point. Jim was going to end up getting ass-raped by the bloody rule book if he didn't stop mentally dissecting Spock's relationship with Uhura. The subject held a certain morbid fascination for him, sort of like a rotting flesh wound, but he needed to focus on working out how screwed he was right now. Jim tried to remember if responsibility for a Captain's professional learning was some sort of executive perk but kept drawing blanks. He was sure he'd have paid attention to something like that if it came up. It was vitally important to know how many ways your crew could get their revenge on you, particularly in Jim's case. The entire Security department, for one, was probably itching to get him back for his overhaul of their physical training regimen. Jim tapped his blunt fingertips against the sink, thinking hard. There was one very quick way to find out whether Spock was bluffing or not. Jim had the sinking feeling that he already knew the answer to that question. He padded out into his room in his underwear and picked up his PADD from where it lay on the floor.

A blue notification bubble floated on the screen, bouncing gently against the edges of his screensaver.

That was fine. It could be anything. Jim looked at the sender, refusing to get worked up just yet.

It was from Starfleet Academy.

That was _still_ fine. It could be an overdue library fine. It could be that they'd finally found out what had happened in the Lewis computer labs. It could be anything, anything but...

Jim clicked on the bubble impatiently and skimmed through the message. With every word he read, he could feel the urge to throttle his First Officer rise higher and higher. _We are pleased to receive... Continuing education... Successful enrolment..._ The last sentence almost made him break his stylus. _We sincerely hope you find the Advanced Command Policy Course a fulfilling and enjoyable experience._

No _fucking_ way. This was _not_ happening, simply because Jim was in a mood to raze the entire Academy to the ground. He was sure he could get Scotty to help him. They had photon torpedoes. It was all good.

Jim couldn't believe it. How could Spock do this to him? It was all right here; the hour requirements, the bloody required reading, the format of the examination. It was to be a written paper, three hours long. "Oh, _fuck_ no!" The last one he had sat, for Concepts in Xenobiology, had left ink stains all over both his hands and given him the writer's cramp from carpal tunnel hell. Forty-one pages he had churned out for that exam. He'd aced it, but that was beside the point. Spock was a complete and utter _bastard_.

There was Jim's enrolment confirmation under his old Academy identification code. It was almost like being a student all over again except that the message was addressed to Captain Kirk rather than Cadet. Not that it made a huge difference, thought Jim bitterly. Spock was still there, smugly looming over him like a fugly black thundercloud and raining all over his damn parade. Stupid Spock. How the _hell_ had he done it? This message was just a notification from Starfleet and held no clues. Jim scanned the sender information and discarded it as useless. No matter. He could navigate four different backdoors into the Academy server off the top of his head. Jim settled in to hack through the system and locate the application form that had been sent to the Academy. He was very curious to know how Spock had walloped him with this one. Tracing the lines of code to the source document, Jim bypassed a couple of confidentiality matrices and downloaded himself a copy. He waited patiently for it to materialise, gently nudging away the odd patrolling DK bot. And there was Spock's handiwork: a beautiful duplicate of Jim's digital signature, complete to every last microbit. The form had been filled in with all of his personal details as well, though that part was child's play. The art lay in the forgery of the server address so that it seemed like Jim had just picked up his PADD one day and enrolled himself in Command Policy for the fun of it.

Ha.

All right. He had been completely blindsided with this one, but it wouldn't happen again. And Jim knew that the best thing to do with unhappiness was to spread it around. Spock was going _down_. Jim set note and dataPADD aside on his desk and headed back to the bathroom to see how much of a mess he could make before starting the day.

* * *

Spock's back looked smug.

No, really. It was positively radiating smugness. Jim spun slowly from side to side in his chair, watching Spock like a hawk. Nobody on the bridge quite liked to get between Jim and his target and they all detoured around the other side of his chair instead. There had been something indefinably cheeky about the way Spock had inclined his head in greeting at the beginning of shift, he decided. Well, not exactly cheeky per se, because that was far too perky a word to apply to any Vulcan. Insolent, perhaps, and entirely too self-satisfied. Jim hoped Spock could still find it within himself to be so cheerful when he found out what Jim had done to his little penguin soaps. It was, admittedly, a petulant thought because Jim had not yet come close to working out suitable revenge for Spock's master stroke of the morning.

"...Captain?"

But he would do it. He would formulate a counterattack of such brilliance that Spock would be routed horse, foot and artillery.

"Captain?"

Then they would see what would happen to Spock's ineffable smugness.

"Captain Kirk!"

"What? What?" Jim snapped his head around and skewered a little blonde ensign with his Spock-stare. She shrank back several inches.

"I- I need you to... Um, that is, this form..." She visibly gathered her scattered wits. "You need to sign this form!"

She thrust it at him, letting go of the PADD the moment Jim had hold of it and twisting her fingers together nervously. He glanced at her and then examined the form. It was from Bones.

"You're Ensign Aredith, aren't you?" he asked, checking off the sub-points that needed his initials.

"Yes, sir!"

"Interning with Doctor McCoy."

"Yes, sir!" Her voice squeaked a little at the mention of her supervisor.

"It must be terrible for you." Jim scrawled his signature in the designated box and began drawing a big loopy heart at the top of the form for Bones to see. Purely to express Jim's love, of course.

Ensign Aredith squirmed where she stood, in agonies over whether to agree or disagree. Jim handed the PADD back and looked her over in a considering manner. She gazed back at him with the transfixed expression of a trapped mouse.

"I'm working with Commander Spock," he said, with awful emphasis.

"...Yes, sir?"

"Yes." Her captain scowled fiercely.

Was something expected of her? she thought frantically.

"Let me tell you something right now. Terrible does not cut it."

The captain drummed his fingers on his arm-rest in thought and she used the reprieve to take some deep, calming breaths.

"You know what, Ensign? I have a really important task for you." His eyes bored into hers, so very _blue_. And creepy.

"You're going to go down to Med Bay and find my good old friend Doctor McCoy. And then you're going to tell him to approve me for a sparring session tonight. Tell him I don't care how much he bitches and moans about it. Okay?"

He waited for her to nod and then grinned like a shark. "I'm going to need it."

Ensign Aredith saluted mutely and fled, grateful for the first time that she was working under Doctor McCoy and not Captain Kirk.

In his captain's chair, Jim continued swinging from side to side, wondering who would be in the gym when he went down tonight. He already knew it wouldn't be the person he currently wanted to beat up most. Spock never entered the ship gymnasium to Jim's knowledge. _Not_ that Jim kept tabs on him or anything. Please.

He returned to trying to set Spock on fire with his stare.

The shift had carried on much like this for the better part of an hour now, with Jim glowering in his chair and Spock sitting upright in his perfectly pressed blue uniform. Officer Rhuyet had attempted to direct Jim's attention towards a new data cascade, but it was so obviously a transparent ploy to lure him out of his sulk. He had given her a single unimpressed look and turned away. It was the same look that made Bones want to sedate him with something potent and experimental. Officer Rhuyet had simply speared him with an even _better_ unimpressed look, one that tapped into the little-boy centres in Jim's brain and made him feel like he was five years old and smeared with dirt.

It must be the motherly aura she carried around with her wherever she went, thought Jim. She was comfortable and matronly in figure, with dark brown hair rolled up in a sensible bun and the large, serene eyes of a woman who knew full well she was trapped in a ship packed with teenagers and didn't mind at all. She tolerated their dramas, picked up after their messes, soothed hurt feelings and, when required, delivered the most thorough and battering scoldings Jim had ever heard. Amidst the frantic scampering of red-suited ensigns and rapidly beeping consoles, she stood like an imperturbable oasis of calm, manning Internal Systems Control and keeping his _Enterprise _beautifully untangled and aligned.

The look she gave him now said, "I am waiting for you to realise that you are being ridiculous. I can wait very, very patiently. Meanwhile, the longer it takes you to grow up, the more embarrassed you are going to be about it." With a flick of her eyes towards the Science station, she managed to add, "And Spock is going to laugh at you. You don't want Spock to laugh at you now, do you?"

Because Jim really was very fond of her and _not_ because he cared about what Spock thought at all, he straightened up in his chair and tried to stop glaring at his First Officer.

It was very difficult. Spock was so damn pleased with himself, he was practically humming.

Jim almost thought he could hear it.

That was strange. Jim shook his head a little to clear it and frowned in concentration. The hum was still there, an added harmonic which coloured the atmosphere around him a little. It wasn't unpleasant or anything, just... odd. Jim surreptitiously looked around to see if anyone else was hearing things. Chekov and Sulu had their heads bent together, discussing a complicated star chart Chekov had floating above his console. From the look of the angles between the gleaming lines, it was the space around Cardassian Prime. Uhura had a hand up at her ear-piece, lovely head cocked to the side in her trademark listening pose. The seated officers on the left and right bays seemed as industrious as ever. Jim focused on the gentle thrum and became certain it originated from Spock. How, he had no idea because the officers closest to Spock remained oblivious.

Jim narrowed his eyes. He was getting the distinct impression that he wasn't hearing this hum with his ears. As he watched, Spock stood from his station and crossed to the bridge library terminal. Jim noticed that the thrum changed in quality when Spock was further away, but still remained. Since it wasn't too distracting and apparently restricted to Jim alone, he resolved to put it out of mind. It wasn't like it was the first time he had gotten strange vibes from Spock. These vibes simply reminded Jim that he had some revenge to plan. Forget Spock being mad at him about the bathroom and Vulcan mating thing – that was totally swept under the rug in the wake of Starfleet Command Policy. _Advanced_ Starfleet Command Policy, at that!

"Captain, something appears to be troubling you." Spock appeared by Jim's chair and regarded him serenely with his hands clasped behind his back. Of course, that was just a big fat evil facade to hide Spock's evil ways and his bad habit of enrolling people into crappy classes.

"_No_. Really?" Jim suffused his voice with as much sarcasm as he could, knowing that Spock was impervious to the normal amount.

"Yes, Captain."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Now, I wonder what it could possibly be?" he asked sweetly.

"Perhaps it was the large amount of alcohol you consumed with Doctor McCoy last night," Spock replied placidly. "A most inexplicable and self-destructive activity. Are you aware that his beverages can adequately function as a laboratory disinfectant?"

Temporarily derailed, Jim paused. "Huh. You know, I'm not too surprised about that. I think I'll pick next time and just listen to him complain."

"That is not the point, Captain."

"I'm sorry, you had a point? Didn't you just come up here to say that I wasn't my usual glorious, sunshiny self today?"

"Indeed. It is apparent that something has managed to... upset you. I came here to advise you to put aside your personal concerns and focus on your duties as the commanding officer on alpha shift."

"Right. As part of your duties as First Officer on alpha shift, I suppose."

"Yes, Captain."

"And where in your duties does it say to alphabetically organise my shampoo bottles, huh?"

Somebody on the bridge snorted. Jim suspected it was Sulu, whose shoulders he could see shaking slightly in the corner of his vision.

"It is the duty of all Starfleet personnel to ensure that their quarters are always kept in irreproachable condition. Presentation and order is part of military discipline. As you seem to have gone through your training with no knowledge of this requirement, I had hoped to explain through example. It is an effective technique, especially when used for instructing infants and juveniles."

"Yeah, let me know how that works out for you, okay?"

"My projections were similarly unpromising."

Jim choked, hit with mental images of Spock solemnly charting out his captain's progress in toilet-training with the same focus he brought to his scientific research.

"Seriously, Spock? You are such a _geek_. What the hell did you do, tally the number of times I left the toilet seat up and plot a little graph against time?"

Spock did not deign to reply, which was telling enough. Jim laughed delightedly.

"You totally did! That's almost sweet, Mr Spock."

"Your conclusions are extremely illogical, Captain."

"Your _face_ is extremely illogical."

Spock almost, but not quite, rolled his eyes. Jim grinned, counting that as a win.

"Captain, that is not a valid response."

"It totally is. It tells you everything I want to say in a fabulously concise manner."

"If you merely wanted to tell me that you have the mental sophistication of a five year old, I assure you that there is no need."

"_What?_ That's like the third time you've- Where the _hell_ do you get off on comparing me to a kid, huh?"

Spock opened his mouth to reply. Jim hurriedly raised a hand to stop him, having recalled a number of similar incidences.

"No. No, Spock. Leave it. It was a rhetorical question."

Spock nodded in understanding. "Nevertheless. Whatever has managed to inconvenience your charmed life, I believe it best for you to put aside your grievances for now. A Captain must set an example for his crew."

Jim gave him a foul look. Spock's expression was so damn saintly, one would never guess that he had broken six different interplanetary laws that morning.

"Nobody asked you, Spock," he retorted. "Go back to squirming in unholy glee or something."

Spock's features paused for a moment, as though they didn't know how to arrange themselves. Everyone on the bridge exchanged looks with each other and then stared at Jim.

"What?' demanded Jim. "Don't look at me, look at him! He's been giggling to himself in his little Science corner since shift started!"

There was a small, uncertain silence which Sulu bravely took upon himself to break.

"He's been sitting there quietly, Captain," ventured Sulu cautiously.

"Without making any noise," he added, just in case Jim didn't know what _quietly_ meant. "He definitely was not... um ...giggling."

Sulu pronounced the word hesitantly, stumbling over its association with someone like Spock. Across the bridge, faces broke into wide grins which were rapidly covered by hands, PADDs, hooves. Jim saw red. It was like they thought they were being _subtle_.

He opened his mouth to begin ranting á la McCoy. _Oh, is that so? That's right, is it? Spock's a model of virtue and I'm a crazy Captain making wild accusations, right?_ But thankfully, his brain ran ahead of him and he stopped. Of course it was a wild accusation. For all intents and purposes, Spock was just as quiet and forbidding as always. Jim already knew nobody else was hearing Spock's happy vibes. Hell, he probably wasn't hearing them either. The little hum could be left over from Bones' disinfectant-grade bourbon. Jim subsided unhappily back into his chair.

Spock had taken the opportunity to discreetly slide back into his place. Jim saw Uhura try to catch Spock's eye with a commiserating grin ("Haha, isn't Jim an idiot") but Spock resolutely focused on his screen, spine held rigidly tense. The hum was gone now, too.

There, thought Jim, satisfied. A minor hallucination. He would settle down, get some work done, confiscate Bones' stash. Thank goodness the bridge crew already knew he was insane at times.

It was Scotty who had first brought this to Jim's attention, contentedly chatting away in his abrupt Scottish burr as they both worked on the replicators.

"Captain, I just want you to know – no matter what them clots in the admiralty say aboot you an' the way you handled the _Narada_, all me Engineering lads and lassies are standin' right by you," Scotty said earnestly, groping for his pliers.

Jim handed them to him, hiding a grin. "Thanks, Scotty. How hard did you have to drill that into your recruits?" Scotty's loyalty, Jim had found, was a formidable thing,

"Nae, most of them knew already. Rewire this, will ye?" Scotty disappeared under the bottom panel, his words floating up as he continued. "Half the recruits are hero-struck, half are terrified you'll notice them. Now, your central command team. They've got their heads screwed on right."

Elbow-deep in circuitry, Jim grunted as he pulled out a thick cable. Scotty obligingly elaborated. "They know you're a wee bit unstable but I cannae imagine they wouldnae follow you into the sun."

"That I highly doubt, Scotty my man. Not everyone's like you. Uhura, for example, hates my guts."

"Aye, she's a bonny lass eh?"

"Don't even go there."

At that point, a small electrical fire broke out and scorched a hole in the elbow of Scotty's jacket before they managed to extinguish it.

"Look at that! I've had this jacket since Delta Vega. Mebbe Keenser will fix it. Wee fella's a dab hand with a needle." Scotty inspected the edges of the hole unhappily, holding his sleeve up to the light.

"Um. Really."

"Aye. Ye wouldnae thought, but people surprise you." Scotty then muttered darkly under his breath, "Like Spock and Uhura."

Jim really couldn't argue there.

Thinking about his Chief Engineer, Jim decided to take a look at the figures Scotty had been concerned about earlier. Granted, he had been concerned because he was sure he could triple outputs through a series of semi-legal modifications. Jim beckoned to a hovering ensign and took the PADDs she held, determined to lose himself in work for a couple of hours. He opened the first report and sank into an efficiency analysis of the _Enterprise_ bussard collectors.

Around the bridge, consoles whirred quietly and glowing lines flashed through touchpads. The muted lights brought every officer's features into sharp relief, highlighting sculpted brows and cheekbones and carving shadows where facial contours dipped inwards. Chekov and Sulu returned to their gleaming star chart, conferring in low voices. Uhura's station trilled with the odd incoming message as she scanned subspace frequencies. Regulations required an open line be kept for emergency signals and the standardised hailing frequency. All others needed to be scanned every fifteen minutes for deviant peaks, a quick task which she performed flawlessly. Red-uniformed ensigns entered and left the bridge silently, carrying out errands and running messages.

The bridge was designed like a glimmering, high-tech nest, enclosed and secure. The ambient lighting was always kept low and the viewscreen, with its vast expanses of black space and stars, dominated the area. The white panels curved around the walls like the coils of a polished seashell, and the Captain's chair was placed right in the heart of this arrangement. At times, Jim felt that right here was where he came closest to feeling at peace. It was somewhat ridiculous that he needed to launch himself into space in order to feel somewhat grounded inside. With his constant clamour of anger and inspiration quieted by the bridge atmosphere, Jim worked steadily; blue eyes flicking rapidly through forms and stylus tapping to a staccato beat.

When shift turned over, he might not have even noticed but for the scheduled staff briefing. Spock appeared once more by his elbow with a PADD in hand. "Your requested report on the Cardassians, Captain, divided into subsections and organised by the date each discovery about the species was made."

This drew Jim out of the zone. He blinked a few times and then smiled, forgetting he was currently mad at Spock. "Great, Spock. Thanks. We'd better get going to Briefing Room 3, huh?"

Spock nodded woodenly and turned to follow Jim into the meeting.

It was senior staff only, so most officers were leaving the bridge for their downtime. Jim entered the briefing room and beamed at everyone seated around the conference table: Sulu, Chekov, Uhura, Scotty, a few senior liaison officers and what Jim assumed to be specialists in various fields, as they all wore blue. McCoy entered a moment later, dodging Jim's welcoming swat and successfully retaliating before sitting down next to Scotty. The two of them got along surprisingly well. Jim had even come across them drunkenly belting out love ballads together in their respective accents. He had immediately joined in of course despite being completely sober, fabricating a passable Irish brogue and looping an arm around each of their necks. The expression on Spock's face when he walked in on them was a cherished memory of Jim's. He glanced at Spock now, suddenly remembering that he had a bone to pick with the guy. Jim narrowed his eyes. Right after this meeting, Spock was not going to know what hit him.

Sulu had set up the projection screen already. Jim nodded at him and took his place before it, standing at ease.

"We all received the announcement about our mission to Cardassian Prime yesterday. This is our first meeting to discuss what, exactly, we are going to do when we get there. Our objectives are clear. One, we need to attend the Detapa Festival as Federation emissaries. Two, we need to report on the Cardassian political climate for Starfleet intel. And as a questionable, far-flung objective number three, we need to secure Cardassian... if not allegiance, then at least antipathy towards Klingons and Romulans."

Jim held the attention of the room with no problem, being well-accustomed to scrutiny of all kinds. The hearing that Spock called wasn't the only one he'd had to attend, after all.

"We need to decide which crew members to appoint as part of the initial greeting, main diplomacy team and entourage. Once this is settled, those crew members will need to focus on preparing themselves to represent Starfleet on Cardassian Prime."

Jim nodded to Prof. Derry of Cultural Relations, a small bookish man who spent his days holed up in an office lined floor to ceiling with shelves of paper. It was a sign for the professor to give his presentation on power and etiquette in Cardassian society. Jim moved to sit down, only to be interrupted by Lieutenant Uhura.

"Captain?"

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Is that all you're going to say? You haven't even touched on the volatile political climate or warned anybody about how sensitive and downright dangerous the mission really is."

Uhura was steadily working herself up. "You haven't mentioned any of the difficulties we'll encounter and you talk about what we have to do like it's just _nothing_! A trip to the corner store to get milk!"

She obviously believed he had no idea what he was doing. Jim couldn't blame her, but he certainly could aggravate her a bit more. He dropped nonchalantly into his seat and lounged back with a lazy grin.

"Well, let's see what we know, Lieutenant. The Cardassians control a large system and are a powerful, prideful species in their own right. We have some limited trade agreements and a history of miscommunication which infrequently explodes in armed scuffles. There isn't a single Cardassian in Starfleet, vice versa, and they don't approve of tourism in their system. There is no way to get in uninvited. We know crap all about them other than what can be found in records of previous diplomatic endeavours and they don't care to facilitate any exchange of information. Have I got it right?"

Uhura glared at him, cheeks heated with irritation. He could practically see the expletives running through her mind – in seventeen different languages. She was a brilliant, brilliant lady but then, so was Jim. Except, you know, he wasn't a lady. He was the captain. And he had his crew covered.

"The participating _Enterprise_ members will be thoroughly briefed, I promise." He held her gaze for a moment so that she knew he was being serious. "Everyone in this room has done their homework so they know what's going down. Professor Derry? You can start your presentation now."

Jim settled in his seat as Prof. Derry began to speak in an excruciating monotone, trying to ignore the assessing way Spock was staring at him.

* * *

"Good afternoon, Captain."

"Captain."

"Good afternoon, sir."

Jim nodded at the crew members who greeted him, trying to look like he was headed off on business rather than prowling around Deck 9 in search of Spock. Haha. The Search for Spock. That could almost be a holovid title or something, thought Jim. It had a certain ring to it. But then, somebody would have to care enough about Spock to go looking for him. Maybe the vid could just be about a pack of wild Delta Vega beasts hunting down Spock in an arctic wilderland. They could catch him and eat him or something. Jim remembered the freaky star-shaped jaws he had almost come into contact with and grimaced. Nah. Perhaps the beasts could just chase Spock around for a bit. He could escape their grasp by jumping across a crevasse, maybe slip on some ice. Bump his head and wake up with no memory. Spock could forget that he was a cold, cruel bastard and then maybe he would actually be pleasant to have around. Jim considered this scenario for a moment, then summarily dismissed it. It was the bastard Spock he was looking for, thanks all the same. And there! A ramrod straight posture and criminally ugly bowl cut!

"Hold up! You with the pointy ears!"

Spock turned and raised an eyebrow, taking in the sight of Jim frantically weaving through corridor traffic to catch up with him. The way cleared as new ensigns recognised the red-faced man to be their captain and moved aside. Jim marched up to Spock and poked him in the chest.

"I presume you were referring to me, Captain."

"Yeah I was referring to you, smart-ass. Who else? If you think you can just race off right after the meeting, you've got another thought coming. What the fuck is this, huh?"

"It appears to be your dataPADD, Captain."

"Cut the bullshit, Spock. You bloody enrolled me in Advanced Command Policy. Me! In _Advanced Command Policy_." Jim furiously jabbed at the Academy notification for emphasis.

"I believe you require it, Captain."

"Oh no Spock. No. I most certainly do not. _Fix it_."

Spock cocked his head to the side questioningly. "Fix it, Captain? Surely you would be just as capable of fixing it as I. After all, the enrolment is under your name and signature."

There was a long pause as Jim turned this over in his mind. His enrolment had been tendered. It had been accepted. The paperwork had been filed and the census date was... yesterday. In fact, the census had closed barely an hour after Spock had sent in Jim's application. Jim stared at Spock, appalled. It was dawning on him that his First Officer was a truly terrifying opponent.

"I think you will find, Captain, that you will simply have to 'grin and bear it'."

Jim swallowed.

"Okay. Fine. Just fine." He took a deep breath.

"Tell me, Spock. How many people do we have onboard qualified to teach this retarded course?"

"One, Captain."

Jim's stomach sank like a stone. "And... who would that person be?" Oh gods no.

There was a glint in Spock's dark eyes.

"That person would be me, Captain."

_Fuck._

_

* * *

_

Hoo boy. Let's see. Six months since last update. I can explain! Or, I can just grovel. Grovelling is good. Please forgive my lapse... tell me if this chapter is up to standard... unload torrents of abuse at me until you feel better... whatever you like. I am open to anything you want to send my way!

May I also extend a huge thank you to Anon, who picked up something I'm still bashing myself over the head about. =]

-xox-


End file.
